City of the Damned
by dearmrsawyer
Summary: The instruction was clear: save Dean Winchester from Perdition, before it is too late. Spoilers for 4x16.


**City of the Damned**

The order fell and the garrison aligned immediately, ready for duty. The instruction was clear: retrieve Dean Winchester from Perdition, before he is broken.

Castiel stood in obedient silence, flanked by his brothers and sisters on either side. His mind held nothing but the mission as he waited patiently for the descent. Castiel had never been Below; only a handful had. However he was not fearful, merely determined. Once the entire garrison had been summoned, it was time.

In a wave of celestial energy, the garrison descended into the Pit. They spread across the darkness, darting in amongst the demonic black. Junior minions populated the outer reaches; it was not difficult for the garrison to dig their way through. Light erupted all around Castiel as demons were destroyed at the hands of his brothers and sisters.

The darkness grew thick as the garrison climbed deeper. Castiel burned a demon in his path, feeling power radiate into the entity as it burst from existence. A second collided with him, forcing him back a few paces. This demon's strength exceeded those Castiel had faced so far, but it was not a challenge yet. Reaching forward, he released a wave of light that paralysed the demon, holding it still as he approached and pressed his hand to it. The blackened spirit exploded in a sizzling, crackling light. Angels spread in front and behind Castiel as they forced their way closer to their goal.

Suspended souls screamed in agony from the racks hanging high on all sides, holding deal-makers in place as demons tore into them mercilessly. A hint of emotion flickered within Castiel as he looked upon his Father's creations, Perdition too. A lingering brother beside him told Castiel he wasn't the only one with such an urge, but it was not their orders; they had to move on.

Screams grew deeper and louder, mingled with the voices of torturers laughing in shuddering pleasure. Demons of greater power came against the army, and the occasional soldier was banished back Above. The army shrank at the loss of each warrior, but the force was not significantly lessened. The garrison buried themselves in the suffocating despair; they could _feel_ they were approaching their goal. The darkness became denser, more invading, and a single, malicious laugh grew ever closer.

The racks began to thin, but the grief grew thicker. So thick that it began to infect Castiel's heart. It felt foreign and unknown. It felt... heavy. However, nothing could defer the celestial force from its mission.

A single rack hung in the distance, and in front of it was he, the Torturer. He stood at a distance, observing at ease. An unfamiliar energy washed over him and he turned to see the angels approaching. Remaining in his place, he looked back at the lonesome rack, and simply laughed.

What remained of the angelic swarm swooped in to face Alistair; Castiel was not slowed by the Torturer. Light, not of demonic death, but angelic banishment, exploded behind him as Alistair countered the garrison. Although a part of him desired to return and assist his brethren, the duty pushed Castiel on. A wailing scream echoed from ahead, calling him onward.

The rack grew closer and the cries became even more twisted; he willed to put the soul at rest. He could see it, writhing under the hand of its torturer. It begged, pleaded and wept. Castiel called out in a command to cease, and the torturer turned to face the angel with a maniacal glare at who dared interrupt. Castiel felt the cause slip.

Dean Winchester's blackened soul sat above its moaning victim, a blade of the damned in its hand, and broken. Castiel could see the light of Dean's soul flickering, almost smothered completely in the fresh darkness that bred within. The soul was shadowed. It turned back to the rack, satisfaction emanating in waves as it slid the blade into its plaything.

The words of the mission rang in Castiel's head and he knew, even now, he could not disobey. There was a soul to be saved – a soul he was _able_ to save. War waged behind the angel, but his sight was trained on the rack ahead. Dean's soul could be salvaged from this mess.

Dean's soul did not notice Castiel's approach until the divine light reflected off it, burning. The angel grabbed Dean with a holy, searing hand and pulled. Alistair turned from his combat, rage saturating the Below, and he released the mightiest power he possessed in order to remove the angelic obstacles. The garrison were still too many and the demon was impeded, watching as his prize was robbed of him.

Castiel shot from Hell, passing racks and demons and unsaved souls, leaving a roaring Alistair behind.


End file.
